


Cake and Kisses

by Neyasochi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Fluff, M/M, Resolved Pining, Romance, Shiro Birthday Exchange 2018, alien creature hunting, shiro gets his birthday wish :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13824300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyasochi/pseuds/Neyasochi
Summary: While the team comes together to shower Shiro with amazing birthday presents, Keith quietly worries that his gift— inspired by a Galran hunting tradition— may have missed the mark.





	Cake and Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dyjanobrien](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dyjanobrien).



> For dyjanobrien as part of the Shiro Birthday Exchange! :)  
> V cute art by [Perevision here!](http://perevision.tumblr.com/post/182407607192/sorry-guys-between-winter-flu-work-and-being)

 

Keith was beginning to wonder whether he’d made a mistake bringing the Blades into this.

“We have to kill _that_?”

“It is tradition,” Kolivan replied, voice solemn behind his mask. The lanky Blade kneeling beside him nodded in agreement.

 _That_ was a creature the size of a prehistoric crocodile, with a hard carapace and a dozen or more scaly legs tipped by pointed talons. Kolivan had called it something— too many syllables, punctuated with tongue-twisting sounds no doubt unique to the Galra, and apparently too culturally specific for Keith’s Altean-made translator to grasp— and Keith had simply nodded along as if it meant anything to him.

Near the front of the alien creature, a bony skull with a dozen deeply recessed eyes protruded. Keith didn’t like the look of the multi-rowed teeth lodged along its narrow jaw, nor the lash of its spine-ridged tail.

“The dedication of a _saarshokissqun’anaankadan_ kill is a great honor. This particular beast provides venom essential for several rare poisons we employ, and from the marrow in its bones we can create a salve to soothe even direct laser burns. Every part of its carcass serves a practical use.”

“So you’ve killed one of these before?”

Kolivan’s head tipped. When he spoke, the words resonated with something like admiration. “No. But Antok slew one in my name, once. Larger than this. It fed every Blade in our central headquarters for a week.”

Keith’s lips moved in a silent _wow_.

“Typically, _saar_ are slain with bare claws only.” Kolivan glanced down at Keith’s very human fingers, no doubt picturing the short, blunt nails hidden under deep violet-grey gloves. “But I am sure none would doubt your commitment to Shiro if you used your blade.”

Keith stared down at the sliver of his reflection in the lavender-tinged luxite. He turned the dagger between his fingers, blade flashing in the light of two pale red suns, and sheathed it.

Beside him, Kolivan tilted his head, and though his mask obscured every expression he wore, Keith got the sense that a smile hid beneath.

 

———————

 

“Keith,” Lance said, one hand on his hip as he stared at the massive alien beast strewn across the hangar floor, “sincerely, from the bottom of my heart— what the fuck.”

“It’s called a _saarshokissqun’anaan’kadan_ and it’s for Shiro.”

An ill-timed gurgle worked its way out of the reptilian carcass at Keith's feet, adding to the disgraceful display on the hangar floor.

Kolivan didn’t even spare a glance down as he stepped over the creature’s remains, his focus on the paladins even as he cleaned green blood from the grooves of his blade. “Keith expressed an interest in learning more of his Galran heritage and a desire to do something special for the Black Paladin’s birthday. The hunting and presentation of a _saarshokissqun’anaan’kadan_ satisfies both demands.”

“Is that right, Keith?” Lance asked, his hands braced on his hips as his leveled gaze swiveled back to Keith. He nudged the dead beast with the toe of his slipper. “Here I was, planning a spa day for Shiro when what he _really_ wants is a giant dead alien croco-worm."

“Dude… are you okay?” Hunk questioned, a warm hand covering Keith’s shoulder. His eyes traveled down Keith’s battered frame, taking in the long slashes through his Marmora uniform and the bruised skin that peaked through. 

“Uh, yeah. I guess I should probably drop by my room and change—”

A large, clawed hand on his shoulder stopped Keith short.

“You’ll want to wait until _after_ we butcher the _saar_.” Kolivan’s expression was grim, as ever.

And he was right, as was often the case. Keith’s outfit took another round of abuse when he accidentally nicked the beast’s stomach and spilled its half-digested contents across the hangar floor. It didn’t spoil the meat, luckily, although it did start to eat through both the slate grey metal flooring and his boots with surprising speed.

By the time Keith was able to retreat to his old room and change into a spare set of old clothes, he was fiercely questioning every decision he had made in the last thirty-six hours.

He was late to the party, slipping into the grand dining room just in time to sing to Shiro— an awkward affair led by the five other humans in the room, with Allura and Coran mumbling the words as best they could remember while a dozen scattered Marmora Galra and a handful of visiting rebels looked on in silence.

“Make a wish!” Pidge reminded him, the clear orange tile of her phone held sideways while she recorded. 

Shiro froze mid-inhale, his cheeks darkening with the barest hint of a blush, and then leaned forward to blow out the single candle topping his birthday cake.

The cake itself was a marvel of Hunk’s engineering— six impressive layers, each a different flavor, all topped with a thick whipped icing the color of amethyst, courtesy of Kaltenecker. Keith had kept catching whiffs while he and the Blades butchered and prepared the feast, and it looked even better than it smelled.

While Hunk meted out a slice for everyone in attendance, Shiro opened his first present.

The silky blue wrapping was more cloth than paper. It shimmered as Shiro unknotted the elaborate bow on top, slipping aside to reveal a glassy-sheer container.

It contained a tea comprised of dried juniberry leaves and petals—preserved for ten-thousand years and absolutely priceless in both rarity and sentiment—that smelled and tasted of home, according to Allura and Coran. The talk of Altea and its juniberry meadows had Coran excusing himself back to the kitchen for more drinks, a gloved hand pressed over his mouth.

“This is too much,” Shiro said as he watched Coran’s retreat, holding the box carefully on his lap. “I couldn’t possibly take this from you.”

“It is a gift,” Allura said, drawn up with solid resolve, her hands clasped together. “A most precious one, certainly, and I am more than happy to share it with you, Shiro. Happy birthday!” she added, her smile bright.

He turned the sheer, ice-blue container over in his hands, watching the dense mix of leaves and dried pink petals roll. “It reminds me of what my grandfather used to drink. Thank you, Princess.”

“Of course!” Allura leaned in, her expression turning coy as she dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “And I must say, I believe you will find it of great benefit, Shiro. When imbibed, juniberry flowers are known to be _very_ relaxing.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” Shiro said, his gaze immediately darting past the princess to lock on Keith and the others. His jet-black brows were raised, dangerously close to meeting the ends of the white fringe that had regrown to hang over his forehead, and he was clearly biting down on his bottom lip to hold back a wider grin.

Their eyes met for a moment, across the table and the span of the room, and Keith had to answer it with a smile of his own. Shiro, for his part, looked a little embarrassed, a little overwhelmed, and very much pleased despite it all.

“Well, uh… I didn’t get you space weed or anything,” Lance said as he sauntered up to the table, his arms thrown out in a shrug, “but I am offering you one life-changing spa day tailored to your individual needs. Let an evening at luxurious Spa Blue help you recharge! This package includes one expert consultation with _moi_ , the space goo facial of your choice, followed by a relaxing mud mask. Estimated value: eight-thousand GAC. Non-transferrable.”

Shiro let out a whistle and a small clap as Lance dramatically pulled a hand-drawn coupon out of his jacket and handed it over with a flourish. He turned the paper over and examined the crudely drawn Lance holding a flag emblazoned with ‘Happy Birthday’ on its back. 

“Uh, we did a combined gift?” Hunk announced as Shiro finished thanking a rosy-cheeked Lance. He gestured to the Holts on either side of him: Matt, all easy smiles, and Pidge fidgeting restlessly, barely able to contain her enthusiasm.

Hunk handled the tiny, bow-clad box with all the gentleness of a baby bird, gingerly setting it into Shiro’s cupped hands.

Within was a thin piece of Altean tech—a white and ice-blue tile only a little bigger than the pad of his thumb. Shiro carefully withdrew it, delicately pinching the tiny piece of tech between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s for you to listen to music!” Pidge burst out, practically bouncing to his side. “Hunk found the materials and optimized the hardware for our purposes, and I coded it— made the interface all pretty for you,” she said, almost sing-song as she reached over and gave the tile a tap.

The interface popped up, all hard, projected light that reacted intuitively to her quick pokes as she skimmed through menus. “And we went back to the space mall to get some actual music from Earth—”

Shiro started. “Whoa, seriously? What’d you find?”

 “Enough cheesy pop hits to keep you satisfied,” Matt said, sporting a smug grin. “I only dug through a giant bin of ancient, garbage CDs and converted them all to craft the ultimate Shiro workout mix for you. No big.” 

“Selfless of you,” Shiro muttered as he let Pidge affix the tiny music player to his arm. It fit almost seamlessly against his Galra-made prosthetic. “Thank you, guys. This is… it’s really cool.”

“It’s waterproof so you can sing along in the shower. I mean, you already do,” Hunk amended, “but now you can have musical accompaniment whenever you feel like reenacting Moulin Rouge.”

As the giggles and chatter died down, Keith felt stares gradually shift onto him, waiting.

A handful of the Blades emerged from the kitchen carrying platters heaping with roasted meat the color of avocado: whole sections of tail, spines still attached; haunches surrounded by unfamiliar vegetables; even a pot of red-tinted stew thick with diced chunks of the slain _saar_.

Last to emerge was a lean Galra whom Keith knew only as Kalat. Carried in her arms was a gleaming platter holding only the severed, roasted head of the beast. Bright fruits and edible flowers filled the six rows of eye sockets, while slices of cooked tongue and organ meat filled its open jaws.

Kalat’s smile stretched wide as she pressed the plate into Keith’s not-entirely-ready arms. “Go on,” she urged, her low voice barely more than a hiss.

Keith felt spotlighted as he took a few hesitant steps forward— with forty pounds of skull and alien meat in his hands, no less— forced to account for himself before an expectant and eager Shiro.

He slid the centerpiece platter onto the table in front of Shiro, careful not to jostle it. A quick glance to Kolivan found him standing with his feet planted shoulder-width apart and his clawed hands clasped together behind his back, bare-faced and unreadable— until he gave an encouraging nod. 

Keith chanced a sidelong peek at Shiro, his nerves and clammy sweats kicking into overdrive at the sight of the Black Paladin’s wide eyes and unfailingly polite smile.

“Happy birthday, Shiro. I, uh, I killed this for you. It’s kind of a Galra thing. And I’m supposed to give you head— give you _the_ head,” he rushed to correct, feeling every ounce of warmth in his body surge to his face.  _Too late_. Lance was already wheezing somewhere behind him, and more than one of the Blades curiously tilted their head. “The head, which is— it’s, uh—”

“It is traditional for the head to be served to an honored recipient,” Kolivan interrupted, mercifully. “And today, that would be you, Shiro.”

“It’s— I mean, _wow_ ,” Shiro said, his dark eyes turning from the set of bared, meat-stuffed jaws before him to Keith. There was a little disbelief in his voice, a little shock and awe, but his smile was toothy and sincere. “Keith, I’ve never seen anything like this! Why— what made you think of this for me?”

Keith zeroed in on the little crease along Shiro’s brow— just above the ridge of his handsome nose, nestled between shapely eyebrows. He crossed his arms in front of himself, feeling the slip of his sweaty palms against the fingerless gloves he wore. “Oh. Kolivan mentioned it. And it just… felt right.”

From the opposite side of the room, Kolivan nodded and approached the table with slow, even steps. 

“ _Saarshokissqun’anaan’kadan_ is only natural, between those who have cultivated trust and loyalty together,” he explained, his expression softening the barest bit. “To provide sustenance and resources to the cohort is practical and commendable; to do so by slaying an impressive beast in the name of another, alone and barehanded, is acceptably sentimental.”

Shiro’s palms met the table with a thud as he rose from the chair labeled ‘Birthday Boy’ at the head of the table. He looked at the spread— at least a dozen sizable platters and pots, and some featuring whole legs or chunks of tail— anew. “This thing? With your _bare hands_? Fuck, Keith.”

That rang familiar. In an instant, Keith was thrown back to the first time Shiro had let him pilot his cherry-red hover racer through the canyon just off-base, every memory of it preserved in crystal. Shiro’s face afterward, reddened from sun and wind and furious concern, his hair whipped wild and legs a little unsteady. The first time he heard Shiro say _fuck_. The ensuing chastisement that instead felt more like encouragement, and the half-assed lecture that quickly devolved into praise and excitement and a grinning request to go around again. 

“I wish you hadn’t taken such a risk, Keith, but I do appreciate that you thought I was worth it. Really, this is just… unbelievable. Thank you,” Shiro said, smiling as he squeezed Keith’s shoulder reassuringly.

Keith nodded, his smile tight as he watched Shiro pore over the table, cautiously peering and prodding at the various dishes. 

Shiro pinched the dense bone that extended from a meaty chop and lifted it toward a clean plate; to his credit, he recovered quickly from the sight of the gooey, green-tinged strings that clung to the meat as it parted the rest of the roast.

“Okay, but like… does it taste good?” Lance asked, edging around Keith to survey as Shiro slowly piled his plate with various cuts of the prepared meat.

“It’s highly nutritious,” one of the nearby Blades answered, as if that was all the information they needed to hear. A plate was already clasped in his oversized hands, claws tapping impatiently against its back.

After Shiro finished serving himself, the Galra free-for-all commenced. Even Allura and Coran were quick to take their share, each of them effortlessly devouring Galra-sized portions while making polite conversation with Kolivan and his new right-hand.

“Yeah, I’ll go for it,” Hunk decided, shrugging as he bravely shouldered the burden of being the first human to venture a taste. He speared a heavily seasoned chunk of meat on a two-pronged fork, dipped it in the thin red sauce that accompanied it, and carefully nibbled on one corner.

Shiro leaned forward slightly, his own plate still in-hand and untouched, intent while he watched Hunk take the first bite. “What’s it like?”

“Tastes like… earthy shrimp? Texture’s like silken tofu, but uh… huh. It’s got interesting mouthfeel, for sure.” Hunk delicately ate the rest of it, his brow furrowed as he tried to pin down every flavor.

Keith tried not to stare as Shiro started working on his own plate— carefully sampling each dish he’d picked up, smiling at familiar Blades as they passed by and offered well-wishes, hurriedly licking his thumb as green-tinted juices sluiced down his hand.

Keith’s own plate was sparse, as was his appetite. His stomach felt small and tight, and he could only manage a few bites of something that looked like green scrambled eggs but tasted like an extra salty fishcake.

In no time at all he was clearing his plate and sliding the dirty dish into a panel along the wall for cleaning. Shiro’s party was actually starting to _look_ like a party— conversation was flowing, Olia and a few more rebels had turned up, and even Slav had crawled up from the engine room to loudly fret to Hunk about the angles on his slice of cake. 

Oh, Shiro was going to love that.

Except that Shiro wasn’t in his chair at the table, or anywhere near it. Or anywhere else that Keith could see, for that matter.

Coran tried to ply him with a glass of nunvill from a platter that was being passed around— and by the looks of it, Coran was already deep in his cups. Keith declined, the memory of the last time he’d had a sip still too fresh, and searched the room for Shiro instead. 

He craned his head, stretched on his tip-toes to peer past Hunk and a broad-shouldered Blade, and then made for Kolivan’s side with haste.

“Keith—”

“I don’t see Shiro,” Keith whispered, still sweeping the party for any sign of the Black Paladin. “Did you have eyes on him?”

A soft laugh drew Keith’s attention back— it was a sound he’d heard only once before, when Keith had successfully sent one of the eldest Blades sprawling onto his back during a spar. He turned to Kolivan, brows lifted as he caught sight of a sliver of a smile just before it vanished. 

“I saw him take his leave down that hall.” He gestured with a large, clawed hand, and Keith felt some faint measure of relief uncurl in his chest; it was the way to the observatory. “I wish you success.” 

“Okay. Thanks.”

Keith bowed his head— _why_ , he didn’t know, and lingering embarrassment left his ears burning— before leaving Kolivan and slipping away from the party. 

The observatory was peaceful as ever. Across the room’s expanse, Shiro stood silhouetted before the cosmos, his arms crossed and his shoulders taut.

At the moment, the castleship was safe in rebel territory— as safe as they ever got, at least. It was a rare relief, being spared the onslaught of Zarkon’s forces; rarer still for Keith to have so many free vargas in between his missions with the Blades. He attributed that latitude to Kolivan and his unexpectedly enthusiastic support of celebrating Shiro’s birthday.

But then, Shiro seemed popular enough with the Blade of Marmora— Kolivan respected his leadership, and more than a few Blades spoke in awe of the Champion. Ulaz had certainly taken to Shiro, quickly and intensely, and it only seemed right that the rest of the Galra would come to value him as highly.

The rippling nebula that filled the wide windows of the observatory was paired with a single star that burned at its center, brilliantly white amid clouds of red-orange cosmic dust. It had to be dozens of times larger than their own Sun, and violently unstable to boot. _Beautifully_ unstable, as its own mass and combustion tore the star apart in spectacular fashion— the fields of burning gas that surrounded it were a glowing vermillion, and Keith could only imagine the intensity of its eventual and inevitable death by supernova.

Warm, red-tinted light filtered in—after first passing through the Alteans’ elegant means of filtering radiation and other interference, no doubt—and chased away the usual green-tinted dimness of the observatory lighting. It fell on Shiro like sunset, the glow settling on his skin and the white fringe of his hair with the weight of something tangible.

“Wow.” It slipped out before Keith could even think to stop it, and in an instant his face felt hotter than the inferno looming just a few hundred or so light-years away.

“Oh, Keith.” Turned at the waist, Shiro uncrossed his arms and beckoned him over, a smile flitting in to replace his momentary surprise. “Yeah, it’s really something isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” Relief slipped through his veins like coolant. He gravitated toward Shiro’s side without thought, his feet feeling strangely heavy in his old boots; he’d grown accustomed to his Marmora uniform, all light and flexible material.

“Sorry for slinking away,” Shiro apologized, casting Keith a soft and slightly embarrassed look. “I just needed a little breather. Is everyone still enjoying themselves out there?”

Keith’s mouth quirked to one side. “Uh, you’re missing out on nunvill pong and I think I heard Lance explaining body shots to the Blades.”

Shiro laughed— ugly, though his nose, letting loose an undignified snort as he no doubt imagined the likes of Kolivan indulging in drinking games. 

That alone was worth hunting Shiro down for, but Keith was mostly satisfied to find him safe and not-missing.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Keith said as he took a tentative step back toward the door. “I’ll see you out there in a bit?”

“Oh,” Shiro said at once, his brows shooting up. “You can stay, if you want to. The, uh, view’s really nice. Once in a lifetime.”

Keith had to tear his gaze from Shiro to fix again on the star and the burning embers around it. It _was_ , really. Against the void-black backdrop of deep space, color bloomed in a smattering of light and shimmering dust that no one on earth would be able to imagine. Up close, the pair would be devastating—between the white-hot star and the wind-nebula’s own fiery swirls of gas, Keith doubted if anything but Red could pass through without being reduced to vapor.

“I forget, sometimes, how amazing this is. For all the—” Shiro’s words caught, and he crossed his arms again; Keith’s eye was drawn to the flex of metal fingers as they curled into his bare bicep. A shuddering breath passed the paladin’s lips before he continued. “For everything else, there’s also… _this_.”

Keith followed the short movement of Shiro’s prosthetic hand as he gestured toward the window. Toward the beautiful, stark spread of space in front of them.

“I dreamed about getting to the edge of the heliosphere. Maybe making it past the Kuiper Belt, maybe seeing the Oort Cloud. I never could have even— it’s just— I mean, _this_?” Shiro forced an exhale that bordered on a whistle, shaking his head. “That’s a Wolf-Rayet! Right there! A motherfucking _Wolf-Rayet_ , Keith. Professor Vaswani would _die_ if she knew we had front-row seats to this,” he laughed.

Keith smiled as Shiro leaned forward, his scarred nose hovering close to the Altean-made glass that separated them from both the cold void of space and DNA-frying radiation. The stars outside seem to catch in the stormy dark of his irises, reflecting like a cosmos of their own.

“Can you imagine trying to fly through that nebula?” Keith asked, teasing as he gently bumped his shoulder into Shiro’s side. “The radiation, the stellar winds—”

“Uh, no. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Keith jutted out his lower lip. He shrugged his shoulders and put on the most innocent airs he could manage.  “It wouldn’t be _that_ bad, so long as we avoid those flaming globs of gas that are— what, three-hundred times the volume of Earth? Maybe I can ask Red about taking you on a joyride…”

“Not amusing in the slightest.” Shiro tried to deadpan the delivery and failed, an unmistakable hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth.

“Probably would’ve made for a better birthday present,” Keith sighed. “Uh. Sorry about that.”

“Sorry?” Shiro turned to him with a puzzled frown. “Why are you sorry about it?”

Keith stared past his own crossed arms and at the floor; he picked a spot and rubbed the toe of his boot into it. “Everyone else got you really great gifts, and I… I brought you a dead alien bug dinosaur and made you eat it. I’m sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time, for whatever reason. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint you on your birthday—”

“I’m not disappointed, though.” At Keith’s dry look, Shiro straightened his spine and doubled down. “I’m not. Really, Keith. Going by the Blades’ reactions, the whole _saarshokissqun’anaan’kadan_ thing carries a lot of weight. I appreciate you going through the trouble for me.”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all.” A lie. An egregious one, but Shiro didn’t have to know that Keith had spent the better part of a strange planet’s solar cycle stalking a creature that was thirty feet long, spat acid, and could regrow limbs akin to a hydra. “… Did you really like it?”

“It was better than food goo,” Shiro hedged, smilingly diplomatic. “And the presentation was wild. I loved it, Keith. But you do know you don’t have to, like… prove anything to me, right? Especially if it involves you risking life and limb.”

“It’s the first time you’ve gotten to celebrate your birthday since before Kerberos,” Keith reminded him. “I wanted it to be special.”

“It is! Keith, this is the best birthday I’ve had a while. You really topped yourself,” he added, grinning as he bumped Keith with his hip. “Last time it was an illicit cake that you made after breaking into the Garrison kitchen at two in the morning, and this time it was a Predator-style alien hunt and dinner buffet. It’s got me wondering about next year, for sure.”

Keith grumbled in response, leaning heavily into Shiro’s side. “Don’t expect too much. Next year is just going to be a generic gift from the Space Mall. Some socks or potted space-succulents or something.”

“Oh, that’d be nice,” Shiro murmured, sounding content at the mere thought. “I guess mine are probably dead by now, huh?”

The small collection of potted plants he’d left in Keith’s care during the Kerberos mission had no doubt withered to nothing in the dry, stifling heat of the shack’s windowsill, with no one left back on earth to tend to them. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Not your fault we got whisked into space.”

A short, easy silence stretched between them for a few minutes, their breathing the only sound in the room. And then, unprompted, Shiro began to fill it— with observations he’d made about the Wolf-Rayet star before them, or details of a dark energy void they’d stumbled upon during a mission, worries about the coalition efforts, or how much he found himself missing the constellations of home.

And while he spoke, Keith watched, transfixed.

The loose fall of Shiro’s white locks, still growing out. His storm-grey eyes, framed by lashes long and lush. The strong profile of his nose, once broken during a late-night sparring session, now bridged by a scar that crossed from cheek to cheek. Oh, and the sharp lines of his cheekbones, and how they caught the strongest light of the nebula-shrouded star outside the window.

His voice. His _mouth._ Those lips, those teeth, the tongue behind them. The sounds he could make; sounds _Keith_ could make him make, if only...

Twice, Keith licked his lips and considered--

And then reconsidered. Shiro had other things on his mind: his fractured dreams, his own struggles, the war he was helping to wage, and the burdens of others that he willingly shouldered. And a party in his honor to return to— a rare levity that Keith wouldn’t dream of spoiling. Their years of friendship weren’t worth jeopardizing by foisting his feelings onto Shiro at the wrong time— or ever, possibly. 

Slowly, Keith settled back onto his heels again, angled his head to stare out the windows, listened to Shiro’s words and willed himself to be content with only that. 

“Keith,” Shiro said after a little lapse of silence, his voice soft, barely more than a whisper.

Warm fingers tapped along the side of Keith’s wrist to get his attention.

Keith glanced up and over, questioning.

“I know you already got me a present,” Shiro said, still awash in the fiery glow of the nebula outside. His breath hitched behind lips just slightly parted. “But can I ask you for one more?”

“Of course,” Keith answered, blinking in the face of a question with such an obvious answer. As if he wouldn’t journey to the very heart of the disintegrating star shining on them if Shiro requested it; as if he didn’t fear Shiro’s pain and value his happiness by equal measures. “Anything, Shiro. You know that.”

“Ah… a kiss, maybe?”

For a moment, Keith felt weightless. The sudden silence was almost fuzzy in his ears, accompanied by the very same gut-spinning thrill of being adrift in the soundless void of space. A heartbeat later, he realized that the both of them were holding their breath, leaving the observatory vacuum-silent.

“A kiss?” he asked as soon as basic functions were up and running again.

“No, nevermind. Or— only if you want to,” Shiro amended, nervous tension reading in every line of his body. His cheeks were the brightest red Keith had ever seen, and not only because of the light pouring off of the cosmic firestorm outside the castleship. “I just— you looked like you were going to, maybe, but—”

Shiro probably would’ve bent a little for him, but Keith didn’t have the patience to wait. He turned and slid his hands up Shiro’s shoulders, leveraging himself up to meet him. He threw his considerable weight onto the balls of his feet, rising up on taut legs and crushing his mouth against Shiro’s like it was life or death.

Shiro probably would’ve kissed gentle, too— brief and chaste and leaving plenty of space between them, a cautious test before committing to something deeper. Keith had no patience for that, either. What he lacked in experience, he could more than make up for in instinct and intensity.

When he kissed Shiro, it was going to be unforgettable.

Soft, dry lips gave under his, and Keith nearly swooned at how easily Shiro opened up to him. He could taste the barest traces of sugared frosting left lingering on his skin; without another thought, he caught Shiro’s bottom lip between his teeth and dragged the tip of his tongue across.

A faint, wracked groan slipped out of Shiro before Keith changed angles and sealed their lips again. There was a bobble as Keith overextended and Shiro took a stumbling half-step backward, but still the kiss didn’t break.

Broad hands fanned across Keith’s back, pressing him painfully close to the other man’s front. They connected at every meridian and point, jammed so tightly together that Keith could feel the shift of muscle as Shiro arched against him. And still it was only barely enough— only just enough to keep Keith from taking Shiro down to the floor and trailing kisses across his face and down his throat.

When they finally parted, it was with aching lungs and starry vision. 

Keith wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist, easing back just enough to get a good look at Shiro— dazed, satisfied, an uneven smile making his fresh-bitten lips look even better.

“Wow,” Shiro murmured, eyeing Keith like he was as once-in-a-lifetime as the Wolf-Rayet.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. He cleared his throat, hoping his cheeks weren’t too flushed, and was suddenly and _immensely_ grateful that his Marmora suit had been shredded— there wasn’t much that the skintight armor could’ve done to conceal the boner he was currently sporting. “Happy birthday, right?”

“The happiest,” Shiro said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “This has definitely surpassed the aquarium birthday, and that’s— I mean, that’s been my best birthday for like, sixteen years running, Keith.”

“Because they let you name the baby Beluga whale,” Keith said softly, recalling the story he’d heard on _at least_ four separate occasions. 

“Because they let me name the whale,” Shiro echoed as he nodded, a surprised laugh slipping free. He tried to hide his beaming smile with a metal-plated hand, clearly thrilled that Keith had remembered. 

Keith slid his hands up to frame Shiro’s face, thumbs stroking softly across his cheekbones; he also took note of the tentative touch trailing down his sides to rest on his slim hips. Keith smiled small and sly as he leaned into Shiro and felt him shiver. “So… back to the party? Or should we fuck off for a little while?”

Shiro’s little grin matched his own, conspiratorial as their foreheads met and the heat of his breath kissed Keith’s lips.


End file.
